The words we choose follow in perpetuity, echoes crashing against canceling waves upon waves of grain and wheat and grapes and leaves.

A voice appears to appear in the middle of a laptop computer due to stereo speaker sounds competing for binaural ear stimulation interpretation.

I have no idea about today.

I live 1000 years from now, where sounds from this moment are embedded in layers of archaeological papers and electronic storage.

I have.

I live.

A historically accurate portrayal of Christa DeCicco vibrates the air from 2009.

Drumbeats.

Trumpets.

Happiness is sitting here, electricity lighting the air, my eyeballs, the wind, the desktop designed for a writing surface height, not a laptop computer keyboard.

Parties celebrate, mourn, serve, destroy.

Punch bowls, cookies, napkins, candy, cups.

Doing what I want, many expenses spared, nodding my head to the music.

Thinking ahead, behind, behead, ahind, letters and characters symbolically assembling thoughts rhythmically.

Composing the next video.

Looking for an artist, an ensemble, to complete the audiovisual puzzle.

Waiting…

As usual.

Waiting…

Very unusual…

Waiting…

Waiting…

Tables.

Bars.

Songs.

Nonsense words.

13,695 days to go…

Hum, did-ee, dumdum, doo-be, be-too.